


coffee at midnight

by OedipusOctopus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Jesse McCree is a Little Shit, M/M, Rotating POV, absolutely NOT a slowburn, coffee shop AU, hana is stressed but still v cute, hanzo and genji own a 24 hour coffee shop in the seattle suburbs, it sort of works, mccree has a pet bearded dragon named bowser, mccree is an old man finally getting his degree because gi bill, zenyatta works for a women's health company and tries to make genji chill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OedipusOctopus/pseuds/OedipusOctopus
Summary: Following his retirement from the military, McCree spends his days flitting between focus groups to filling out online surveys for money and his nights writing endless papers for his online college courses. The only 24 hour coffee shop in the neighborhood is none other than Dragon Breath Coffeehouse, and it’s the perfect place for a stray dog such as himself to rest his weary head.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Hana "D.Va" Song
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	coffee at midnight

**Author's Note:**

> The fic's [namesake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls_RQiP71pY) is of course a song by Stand Atlantic because i'm a helpless stan.
> 
> Welcome to my self-indulgent coffee shop AU that will update every other Friday!

That damned black line blinks away, mocking him. It’s telling him he needs to put his fingers to the keyboard and put something, _anything,_ in this Word document.

It’s moments like these, this second week of December when he has no less than three papers due in 24 hours, that Jesse thinks _Maybe this whole college thing ain’t for me._ Honestly, the only reason he hasn’t quit yet is because he’s been able to take all his classes online. None of that sitting in class surrounded by people 20 years his junior business for him, no siree.

Even if he wanted to quit right this second, he can’t. He’s already paid for these classes--well, the government has, anyway--and dropping them this late in the semester means he’ll never get that money back. That’s how he finds himself typing into the little Google search bar in his homepage _how to be productive in college._ He scrolls through several pastel-minimalist blogs detailing all kindsa bullshit like how to start a bullet journal, dotted with pictures of perfect manicures and marble-skinned MacBook Airs. Their advice boils down to: _be rich, do yoga,_ and _breathe._ Unfortunately, Jesse McCree is only really capable of one of those things at the moment, though as he watches the clock tick down to his deadlines even breathing becomes more of a struggle. Eventually, though, he stumbles upon a legit article, the deep blue borders aesthetically pleasing and blessedly not _ballet slipper pink_ . The article does start with an obnoxious recollection of the author’s own plights in college, but about halfway down the page there is a simple 5-point list. The first thing on the list is _Find the right environment_. 

Jesse takes a peek over the top of his secondhand laptop to scan his apartment: it’s not the worst place to be, but he has to admit to himself that it’s not exactly conducive to productivity or creativity of any kind. This run-down studio apartment means all the different parts of a home are smooshed together--the beaten bookshelf stands in space between the kitchen counter and his bed, overflowing with crumpled paperbacks and worn hardbacks alike; the bed itself has a giant pile of laundry (which he’s pretty sure is clean) shoved to the right side, and it takes up nearly half the room; the coffee table and threadbare couch (also secondhand) takes up most of the space, cramped into the area closest to the entryway; the tiny two-seat dining table is in the middle of the kitchen space because that’s the only place it fits.

Which leads him to his next Google search: _best places to study._ The first few links are from the same blogs he had the misfortune of clicking on earlier, so he skips past those until he lands on something promising--the URL ends with dot com, so that must mean it’s official. This website tells him that most students find local coffee shops to be the pinnacle of all productivity. Jesse isn’t much for fancy coffee. Anything more than whatever grind he finds on sale at Safeway is too much for him usually. But if it’s in the name of pumping out these essays--that, yes, okay, he’s known about for _months_ but is just now starting--then why not?

His third Google search of the night is: _local coffee shops._

He glances down at the clock of his laptop and sees that it’s already 11:17 PM. He’s not sure where the day has gone, and did he eat dinner? Probably not. It’s fine. Either way, he’ll be lucky to find any place that’s still open at this hour. Fuck it, if it comes down to it, he can always hop into his beater of a pick-up truck and haul his ass to the nearest Denny’s. They’ve got coffee so therefore they can be considered a coffee shop. 

The Denny’s dream is squashed when Jesse clicks onto the third page of Google results for local coffee shops and finally sees one that doesn’t have the wretched little red _Closed_ tag on it.

Dragon Breath Coffeehouse.

The picture gallery on the Google places page display hanging rustic lightbulbs, exposed brick walls, and backless stools tucked under a reclaimed wood bars lining two walls. The whole thing screams _yuppie hipster_ but Jesse supposes beggars can’t be choosers this time of day, so he grabs his keys and chucks his laptop into its ratty case, cooing a soft _Bye Bowser, I’ll be back later_ in the direction of his bearded dragon’s terrarium sitting atop the kitchen counter as he walks through the door to his apartment. 

The shop is empty when Jesse pulls up, and he thanks any higher power that might be listening. He expected to find the place crawling with other college students scrabbling to get in as much work as possible before the end of the semester. He’s glad he’ll be able to find peace while he writes his papers, at least. 

(Maybe. He hopes.)

Equally surprising is the bubblegum pop that hits Jesse in the face as soon as he opens the front doors. He can feel the plexiglass shake underneath his fingers from the reverberations of the synthetic beat. 

“Ohmygod! Sorry, just one second!” The skinny brunette behind the counter pulls out what looks like an ancient iPod from somewhere beneath the cash register and starts tapping away. Slowly, the music’s volume begins to dampen until it falls to a reasonable level. She continues pressing the screen with her thumb and the song changes from some plastic pop to more typical lofi coffee shop tunes. She sets the iPod down on the counter and looks up at Jesse, nervous smile painting her face. “I’m sooooo sorry about that! Usually we don’t have customers this time of day, so I put on whatever I want.”

Jesse raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Don’t stop on account of me, doll. I myself am partial to Christina, but Brittney is alright every now ‘n then.” He sets down his laptop onto a table near the entrance. Not pictured in the Google images were these low tables surrounded by overstuffed loveseats, but damn is Jesse glad he don’t have to sit in a hard barstool with no back support. His 37 year old body is definitely not as spry as it once was. 

“Oh. My. God. You’re, like, a _real_ cowboy. It’s not just the get-up.” The brunette behind the counter stares at Jesse, fingers splayed over her open mouth. “That’s crazy.”

Making his way over to the register, Jesse squints at her nametag. _Hana._ “Well, Hana, I can’t say I own a ranch or anythin’ like that, so maybe I _am_ a fake cowboy. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

She giggles, cheeks turning a dusty rose. “You talk like one, though.” She blows a tiny pink bubble between her lips and pops it quickly. “Anyway, can I getcha anything to drink?”

“Depends. If I order coffee are you gonna think I’m crazy for ingestin’ all that caffeine this late?” 

“Psh, yeah right.” Hana reaches under the counter once more to lift up a tall can with an unmistakable neon green _M_ in decorative font. “It’s finals week and I’m not here to judge.”

Jesse lets out a low whistle. “I feel ya on the finals front, missy. Alright, I’ll get your largest pour over dark roast and,” he leans back to look into the display case of pastries, eyes scanning the relatively barren shelves, “one of them chocolate muffins. Ain’t no harm, right?”

“The light roast has more caffeine.” Hana pops the gum between her lips once more as she starts tapping away at the register screen. 

“Really? Didn’t know. Lemme have one of them, then,” Jesse says as he pulls out his wallet. He hands her a five dollar bill, ripped at the edges and soft--definitely _not_ worn from Jesse accidentally running his wallet through the wash. “Are you here all by your lonesome? Awful late for a lady to be out by herself. A serial killer could walk through those doors.”

Without looking away from the register screen, Hana grabs for something under the register--must be a whole bag of tricks down there--and lifts up a small pink bottle with a spray tip and no label. “I got mace for days, so don’t try anything _cowboy._ ” The way she tries to sound menacing in her high pitched, accented voice is anything but and Jesse can’t help but laugh. The corners of her mouth turn upward in a small smile. “Besides, my boss comes in at midnight to take over, so if you’re gonna try to kill me, you only have seven minutes.” She hands Jesse his change and then turns away to start preparing his coffee. 

Jesse takes a moment to look around. The place does look similar to the pictures he saw online, but now has more comfortable seating available. He spots a few paintings hanging on the walls, probably from local artists. Two large, uh, coffee-making machines (give him a break, he doesn’t know the name of _everything_ ) sit behind the counter, as well as a few blenders and several bottles with pump-tops. The whole place is small, but charming, and the lighting is soft enough that Jesse thinks it’ll be alright on his old eyes to deal with for the hours he’s about to spend here.

Soon enough, Hana slides a mug of coffee over the counter to Jesse, followed by a muffin on a little ceramic plate painted with gold geometric shapes around the outside. Jesse tips his hat in thanks as he takes his items back to the table where he’s set up his laptop. With a deep sigh and a therapeutic knuckle crack, he plops onto the sofa. 

Just as he is about to bring the mug to his lips and take a sip of the sweet, sweet caffeine-containing, life-giving coffee, the sound of a tinkling bell distracts Jesse. He lifts his eyes up to the front door and in walks the hottest man Jesse McCree has ever laid eyes on. 

Holy. 

Hell. 

The man is absolutely _ripped_ , his biceps practically Hulking through the thin material of his t-shirt. His cheekbones are so sharp Jesse is sure they could cut glass. The high, slightly crooked nose is pierced, two silver dots on either side of the bridge denoting a barbell going through the flesh. Thick, black hair is tied into what looks like a folded bun, tied off with a long piece of purple ribbon. Color spreads up his left arm, blue and yellow ink painting his fair skin until it disappears under the sleeve of his shirt. He could wax poetic about all the little things that catch Jesse’s eye, but then dark, smouldering eyes briefly meet Jesse’s, and his gaze is so intense Jesse feels the urge to look away, but he _can’t_. Jesse could spend hours looking at him.

“Hanzo? Why are you here? Where’s Genji?” Hana’s sweet voice isn’t enough to pull Jesse’s gaze away from this beaut of a man. _Hanzo._

“Genji is _predisposed_.” The words leave the man’s mouth like a growl, as if the words are venom burning his tongue. “I am here to relieve you. You may leave once I set my things down.”

Jesse watches Hana cross her arms over her chest as she huffs petulantly. “You were here at 5 AM today, boss, you can’t also work the midnight shift. You’ll die.” Her cheeks are puffed out not unlike a child throwing a temper tantrum, but her voice is tinged with worry as she speaks. 

The man, Hanzo, scoffs and makes his way behind the counter. “I will not die because I have to cover that fool’s irresponsibility. Again.” He spares a glance over his shoulder in Jesse’s direction. Those eyes, so dark they are almost black, pierce Jesse’s very soul, pin him in place on this couch. Hanzo nods stiffly at him before pushing through a door, and then he’s gone. 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Jesse finally takes a sip of the coffee and _oh hell_ it’s so damn good he can tell himself that the low coil of heat in his belly is simply because of the warm coffee and definitely not because he laid eyes on the most attractive fella in the entire world.

He tries to will his heart to stop its rapid fire beating against his ribcage so he can crack down and get started on those essays. If that fine specimen is going to be in the same room as him all night, he’s got his work cut out for him to remain focused. 

-

At twelve minutes until 3:00 AM, the bell above the door sounds once more. The soft tinkling sound jolts Jesse out of his steadfast concentration, scares him something so fierce he types out ‘lsakdfj’ accidentally. He looks up from his laptop for the first time in two hours--somehow he has managed to direct all his attention to his work and _not_ the absolute hottie standing silent and stoic behind the counter.

It seems that this coffee shop only has surprises in store for Jesse’s poor soul, as the man that strides through the door--well, it’s really more of a stumble, drunken if Jesse had to guess--has neon green hair and is wearing… rave gear. Bright, multicolored furs and highlighter yellow mesh decorate the newcomer’s lithe body. Shiny piercings stud the man’s face and ears, breaking up what look to be some pretty nasty scars over his nose and brow and cheeks. The stranger ambles up to the counter and leans over it dramatically, practically laying on the thing. Jesse watches, rapt, as the barista (boss?) Hanzo does not so much as glance away from the book in his hands, though Jesse swears he sees the slightest twitch in his right eyebrow. Easy tell. 

“Anija! I am so sorry, I lost track of time. You can totally go home now, though! I’ll cover the rest of the shift until you come in again at 5:30--”

“Go home, Genji, you are drunk. We will discuss this later; we have a customer.” Hanzo interrupts whatever this new character--Genji, Jesse supposes--was about to say. 

The green-haired Genji scoffs and continues, words slurred and heavy between his lips, “Psh, it’s 3 AM, there’s no one--” he turns his body toward the rest of the store and his eyes land on Jesse. 

Jesse gives a two finger salute, index finger brushing against the brim of his hat, and averts his attention back to the paper in front of him. Only one page left for this damn essay. Then he can afford to take a little break, have another coffee, maybe another muffin--

“Ohmygod, anija, there is a literal cowboy in our store right now. Ohmygod.” Rustling, the sound of footsteps, and then Genji is standing over Jesse, leaning in so close Jesse can practically taste the smell of sweat mixing with cologne applied at the beginning of a very eventful night. “Can I take a picture with you ohmygod.”

Jesse chuckles goodnaturedly. Maybe his break will have to come a bit early. A real shame, he’s awful close to finishing this piece and quite frankly he was in the zone. He looks up at Genji, taking in his flushed face and reddened neck, inhales the tell-tale scent of strong liquor on his breath. “I ain’t exactly picture perfect right now. I been workin’ on these papers all night.” He hopes he says it with an air of finality, enough force that even a drunkard could understand that Jesse really wants to get back to his work, but he isn’t coming across as an asshole.

Alas.

Genji’s eyes grow impossibly wide as he leans in _even closer_ and says in a rush of alcohol-laden breath, “WOW he sounds like one too, ohmygod, anija this is just like your romance nov--”

A hand slaps over Genji’s mouth, mayhaps a little forcefully for the situation. Hanzo looms behind Genji, seeming to tower dangerously behind the smaller man’s form. He looks down at Jesse, stiff smile on his face. “I apologize for my _employee’s_ behaviour. Please excuse us.” With these parting words, Hanzo drags the green-haired stranger back to the counter.

Those are the first words Hanzo has said to Jesse in the three hours they’ve shared the same air. Jesse quells the urge to reach up and clench the shirt above his heart as the muscle beats wildly against his ribcage. 

As the two men are nearly at the counter, Genji still wiggling in Hanzo’s grasp, the smaller man is able to speak as he bites down on Hanzo’s hand. He harshly whispers--though it comes out as a hushed yell more than anything--”Employee? Excuse you, I’m _co-owner._ ”

“You will not be for long, if you keep on with this foolishness,” Hanzo bites back. He’s finally able to wrestle Genji past the counter and the pair disappears through a door labelled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

The sound of muffled voices arguing drifts out through the door and into the seating area in the shop, barely audible over the sounds of smooth lofi coming from the speakers dotted throughout the cafe. Jesse shrugs, takes a sip of water that Hanzo brought to him somewhere around 1:30 once Jesse had drained his coffee mug, and continues typing away at his laptop. At this rate, he’ll be able to finish the last two (blessedly much shorter) papers before ten AM, even. 

-

At some point Hanzo emerges from beyond the EMPLOYEES ONLY door and resumes his position behind the counter, standing with a paperback book in one hand, the other arm behind his back. He nods once at Jesse before his eyes slide to the pages in front of him, and Jesse does the same. 

Sometimes he can get a little ahead of himself when he writes. It’s 4:27 AM when he presses the ‘.’ button on his keyboard, officially ending the first of three papers. The ‘one more page’ turned into five more pages, but Jesse thinks it was worth it. There’s no page limit on this particular final paper--if he remembers correctly, the professor said in an email to ‘go buck wild’ with it if they really wanted, bless his heart.

With a stretch and what he hopes is a quiet groan as his back cracks obscenely loudly, Jesse stands and firmly shuts his laptop. He moseys on over to the counter, empty water glass in hand, and puts his most charming smile on his face. “Well, darlin’, looks like I could use a bit of a refuel. I’ll take one of them large pour overs, light roast, and…” Jesse makes a show of leaning back to look into the display case of pastries. “I’ll take a cream cheese danish as well.” 

Hanzo places the book in his hand face-down on the counter. “Caffeine addiction is a plague,” he says gruffly as he starts tapping away at the register. “$4.79.”

“Without that plague you wouldn’t have a business, now wouldja?” Jesse chuckles and pulls another fiver from his wallet. “‘Sides, I figure coffee is a hell of a lot better for ya than cigarettes and I’m a recent quitter. We’ve all got our vices, doll.”

Hanzo takes the bill from Jesse and taps something else into the register. The machine lets out a high pitched ‘ping!’ and the cash drawer opens. “You are chatty, I see.” He rifles around in the drawer for a moment before pulling out a few coins and passing them back to Jesse. 

Jesse takes the coins and deposits them into the small mason jar decorated with paper hearts that all say ‘tips!’ in bubbly print. “I been here for nigh five hours and ain’t said a single word to ya ‘til now. Y’ain’t seen chatty yet, darlin’.”

“Yet?” A perfectly sculpted eyebrow arches upward on Hanzo’s stupidly pretty face as he moves away from the register and toward one of the unnamed coffee-making-machines.

Before Jesse can respond, the bell above the door rings out. A deep voice calls out, “Morning, Genji! Oh, you’re not--holy shit is that a real life cowboy?” 

“No cursing in front of customers, Lucio.” 

As Hanzo starts making the coffee, Jesse turns to face the newcomer. He’s a short fella with dark skin and dreads--mostly brown, a few lime green (did this shop exclusively hire men with green hair?)--piled high on his head, tied together with a sunny yellow scrunchie. The fella, Lucio, chuckles and slaps Jesse playfully on his shoulder. “Nah, Hanzo, I’m not even on duty yet! Can I get a picture, man?”

“Y’ain’t the first to ask me that tonight, doll.” 

Across the counter, Hanzo lets out a deep sigh and Jesse grins in response. 

This Dragon Breath Coffeehouse place sure is interesting.


End file.
